


A Bruised Heart Mending

by kenzieann27



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dead Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mentioned Eddie Kaspbrak, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Not A Fix-It, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27160436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzieann27/pseuds/kenzieann27
Summary: Their relationship wasn't perfect, it couldn't be. Both Steve and Richie were two broken people trying to make sense of the world, the world that seemed to take everything and give nothing in return. But this, whatever it was, couldn't be taken.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Steve Covall/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 8





	A Bruised Heart Mending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slitherhell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slitherhell/gifts).



> this is my love letter of sorts to covier, quite possibly the most interesting ship that is constantly overlooked by the fandom. hopefully one day people will see it and understand how it weirdly makes sense.
> 
> for the lovely @gaybullies on tumblr!

"I didn't know what to think about it," he said, looking up from his restless hands to meet the soft eyes of his therapist sitting across from him. "At- at first, I thought it was okay. I always appreciated the stage and the audience and all of that, but I guess I never really thought I'd be a part of it all. I'm not ready to be thrown from backstage to the limelight, I think."

The blonde woman nodded, though he supposed she only did so to try and make some sense of the words that had been tossed her way. Therapy, he had learned these past few weeks, was a lot like basketball; going back and forth, one person to another, trying to reach somewhere that always seemed too far away. It was his turn to nod when he spoke up once more, her words as calm and sweet as ever. "Sometimes I think people get sick of having too much of a good thing, like ice cream. Maybe you are feeling this way because, even though you said you appreciate that lifestyle, you're having too much of it? Or perhaps having it too quickly?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, and he didn't. He didn't know _why_ the past six months had been so draining on him, but he liked to blame it on the lights and the cameras and the interviews and the people- _so many people_. He'd been dragged on stage too many times, talked to complete strangers in the grocery store too many times, sat in dumb poses while people took endless amounts of photographs of him too many times. "Maybe?"

She hummed in response, offering him a rather sympathetic smile. "Maybe it would help if you took a step back from all of that and just focused on yourself for a while, or maybe your relationship. It could definitely be a source of trouble between you two if you aren't comfortable doing the things that he _is_ comfortable doing."

"It really just feels like I'm living out my entire relationship for everyone to see," he sighed. "Part of me hates that since it's supposed to be private and not something for the entire world to be part of. My whole life, I've really just been a normal guy, y'know? I grew up in the suburbs, small family, good kids. I went to college, did well, got a weird job with a dumb boss. Even in this weird job, I've always been just some guy- I was never out _there_ , and people didn't know me. Even now, in my relationship, I feel like I'm still just some guy, never really more than that. It's like… I feel like not even _he_ really knows me, but the whole world knows who I am, and it's hard. But I think I like it at the same time."

"And why is that?"

"Because they know."

* * *

It was a well-known fact among them that 2018 was unapologetically Richie Tozier's year. _Them_ , of course, being most people in the strange, independent world that was comedy (however, Richie always believed comedy was more of a tiny moon that quietly followed the great big scary planet of entertainment, always living in the shadow of the world that never took his beloved genre seriously). Fellow comedians, writers, actors, directors, musicians, fans; they all knew that it was the Trashmouth's year and they were all just living in it.

But, despite all of the new attention he both loved and feared, no one adored Richie's successes quite like his latest fling, the lovably snarky boy toy himself, Stephen Covall.

Of course, Stephen really only cared about those successes as Richie's manager. After hours, as his boyfriend, he didn't pay too much attention to what came out of Richie's mouth unless it was a desperate string of needy compliments and requests. And, as they've only been dating for the past seven months, those needy requests certainly went unfulfilled. Late-night makeout sessions (among _many_ other things), on the other hand, were more than welcome to both of them, even if they weren't enough. Living together, working together, traveling together, being together; though they hadn't, at that point, _gotten_ together, Steve suspected that what they had was worth more than a cheap night of sex that could, in his mind, wait until he was comfortable with the idea.

Though his coming out was less than spectacular and more of a shitty Instagram post he regretted to this day, almost a year later, Richie couldn't help but feel a giant weight lift off his shoulders the minute he made the post. At first, of course, he was worried about the response, about whether what people were going to say were the exact thoughts that plagued his mind for the last forty-one years. Those doubts were quickly outweighed by the realization that he didn't have to hide anymore, that he didn't need that giant filter in his brain anymore. Richie could actually, _finally_ , just be his Richie, and he couldn't have been more excited about that.

Though, on this particularly uneventful night, being gay wasn't the only thing keeping him excited.

Despite every word, every breath, every heartbeat feeling rushed and unimportant, neither of them felt as though the moment was anything other than where they were meant to be. Richie, with his unbelievable patience and rough memories of insignificant one-night stands that proved his awkwardness even to a certain someone he had ten years of life and one year of intimacy on, and the unremarkable Stephen (or Steve, or Stevie, or Stevie Gonzales, or Punky Jewster, whatever fit Richie's mood), whose inexperience almost made him feel nauseous if he wasn't staring at the one person in the world he couldn't get enough of. It was, despite everything that had happened, nearly a perfect match. The peanut butter and jelly, the salt and pepper, the biscuits and gravy of relationships, they'd say. Not entirely perfect (it couldn't be, of course), but right there, right then, it was. It really, really was.

They were clumsy, those two idiots. With one being painfully jumpy and clingy and the other having a terrible lack of upper-body strength, their expectations of this relationship were even less than what they had previously imagined. In the heat of the moment, though, they supposed it didn't matter, their compatibility. All that mattered was that somewhere, somehow, that tension grew to be just a bit too much.

"You are so good, you know that?" Steve panted after separating their lips for a moment, smiling as Richie just laughed at the question. Though this wasn't exactly an uncomfortable position- legs wrapped around his waist, fingers running through his hair, face painted with adoration just the same as him, holding on for dear life as he laughed, _laughed_ , at a statement that should be second nature to him- Steve could have imagined a few places much better to be than slowly making their way through the apartment. Just a few, of course, as he was unsure when Richie's legs would just give out under them.

Ah, romance.

"And _you_ ," Richie replied tersely, shaking his head. "Are a liar."

Steve hummed in response, letting Richie continue to kiss at the side of his neck. "Trying to get into my pants now, are you, Tozier?"

"Yeah, well, your pants could use a little getting into, Stephen."

"I know talking is your job and all that," Steve commented, growing somewhat impatient as he could tell Richie was purposely walking as slow as he possibly could. "But could you just shut up?"

"You're the one asking me dumb questions right now, babe."

"I'm just trying to, you know," he shifted his weight, trying to come up with the best words possible for whatever reason he had for causing the slight separation in the first place. "Lighten the mood?"

"I don't think that _this_ mood needs to be lightened."

"I'm nervous, I guess. I don't want to be nervous, but all of this is new to me," Steve shrugged. "Not that it's bad, but it's just new. I hate new shit, you know that."

It would have been a lie for Steve to say he hadn't felt that way before; that cold feeling in his chest, that slight shake in his hands. The last time he felt like that, well, it was a day he felt like he could never forget.

"Considering you almost started crying when I bought a different brand of laundry detergent that one time, Mr. Sensitive Skin, I would say yes, I know," Richie snickered as he nudged the bedroom door, though returned to his mostly neutral expression when he sensed his boyfriend's annoyance. "We don't have to do anything that you don't want to, y'know. We could just order a disgusting pizza and watch an even more disgusting rom-com or something."

"I want to do this," Steve nodded, closing that gap once more with a soft smile. "I really do."

* * *

He knew what he had been told, what had happened that day. Though Richie and Steve had known each other for just under nine years at that point, Steve wanted for this to be a lie, a joke. But that look, that distant look on Richie's face told him that it wasn't. That it was real.

They had been through a lot together, in both their professional and private lives. Terrible sets, troublesome hecklers, questioning looks, long nights, bad days. But it was a well-known fact between them to never, never bring up what Steve had referred to in his mind as the Maine Incident. Despite not knowing (not fully, anyway), he could tell it was bad just by the damage it had done to Richie; the most obvious effect, he had noticed, was the way Richie would sometimes stare off at nothing, lost in thought. Not that Richie had never done that before, but not like that. Not with that _look_.

It had made him sick to his stomach when Richie had sat him down one night with that terrible comment of "we need to talk." Of course, tales of child-murdering clowns in small-town Maine was not what Steve had been expecting to hear, but he soon realized it was much, much worse.

One of the most unbelievable parts, to Steve, was learning that Richie had not only known some of the most important people in fashion, architecture, and literature, but he had grown up quite fondly with them; it really was a small world. He had talked about Beverly, Ben, Bill, and Mike as if they were family, as if three out of those four people weren't insanely famous and well-respected and, well, Richie was Richie. The most interesting members of his little group of friends ("Losers" he had called them) were not those that could be his siblings, but rather the two he seemed to talk about with a completely different emotion. Stanley, from the way Richie smiled at the mention of his name, seemed to be someone Richie could have talked about for _hours_ (of course, this Stanley turned out to be one of the most successful young accountants in Georgia- was, anyway). But then there was the most problematic one of them all, the one Richie didn't really know how to bring forth. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie- even to this day, neither of them really knew how to talk about Eddie. Richie couldn't because of those heart-wrenching memories, and Steve couldn't because of his bitter feelings towards the more desirable version of himself.

He couldn't form words, couldn't respond. He _wanted_ to believe it, he knew it was true; though Richie Tozier was a lot of things, a liar was not one of them. Not anymore, at least. Well, not to him- not to Steve. One part of him, the part putting him into shock, told him it was a joke, that it was something Richie had been working on to add to an upcoming show.

But that look… that look...

That look told Steve that it had to be real. He didn't know how, but it was. The death, the blood, the trauma, the _fear_ , it was actually something that happened- that Richie went through.

Steve hated Maine for that. Richie (the old Richie) left Chicago with a nervous smile on his face and hope in his eyes and came back two weeks later a broken man. Steve had picked him up from the airport and wanted so desperately to drop him off at a hospital just from the way he was walking. It took Richie sixteen months to just go through that duffle bag (at Steve's suggestion, of course); when he did, he wouldn't stop crying at the sight of a mustard button-up shirt that- according to Richie- was soaked with blood and dirt and everything, _everything_.

It looked perfectly clean to Steve.

And he believed him. After the story was over, after all the secrets were out in the open, Steve couldn't think of anything to do but to reach over and hug him. He couldn't cry, couldn't laugh, couldn't talk, all he could do was just breathe and stare as he tried his best to comfort the person he loved most in the world.

Well, maybe not all of the secrets were out.

* * *

"Hey there," Steve had tried to laugh, noticing that Richie was becoming slightly uncomfortable with this particular situation.

Neither of them was particularly good on their feet, always finding things to trip over or things to slip on. They were simply always, always focusing on more important things in their lives than the dumb floor. In retrospect, Richie probably should have tried to find the lightswitch before wandering into their room, as the dim lighting coming from the lamp in the living room was most certainly not enough to help them find their way. Richie's foot caught on the side of the bed frame, leading to a less-than-graceful fall; they both had tried to chuckle it off, wanting it to be nothing more than a bit of awkwardness in what was meant to be _their_ night.

But, as Steve smiled when he sat up (though he didn't find this position on top of Richie to be _entirely_ uncomfortable), he could tell almost immediately by that look, that fucking look, that it was going to be anything but that. Tonight, like too many nights, belonged to Eddie Kaspbrak.

"Are you alright?" He chuckled as he asked Richie, trying to diffuse the situation. He could see the panic starting to grow on his face, the way his eyes darted from Steve's face to his chest and back again, and again, and again. "Rich?"

Steve tried not to be disappointed as he moved off his boyfriend, tried to tell himself the sigh he let escape was due to anything else, but he couldn't help but feel like everything that had happened that night meant nothing. That whatever they had together was never going to be good enough because he wasn't the person Richie truly wanted to be with; not that he ever admitted it, but Steve had known. It was obvious with the way he'd look at old pictures, the way he'd talk to his friends, the way he'd stare off and nearly end up in tears whenever spring cleaning would roll around each year. He _knew_ , and he almost hated that he knew; Steve had wanted to be blissfully unaware of Richie's wandering thoughts, to not understand that no amount of love Steve had in him for that troubled man would ever fix his fractured heart.

"Hey," he whispered, reaching to grab Richie's hand as he sat next to him. "Maybe it would help if you sat up."

It was a story Steve was very familiar with. He knew this, but often forgot those tiny details that meant everything to Richie. Those details that sent him into a state of panic whenever things got a little too heated between them and Steve climbed on top of his boyfriend. He didn't mean to forget those details, but in those moments, Eddie Kaspbrak was the last person Steve wanted to think about.

"He's- I- I-" Richie shook his head, staring at the ceiling and remained, for the most part, unmoving. He had gotten better since the first panic-riddled spiral that Steve had helped him through, so he suspected this one only came about due to the unexpected nature of it all. Richie didn't move, couldn't move, having those harrowing memories shoved back in his mind and unable to escape them without having to live through them again.

"I know," Steve replied calmly, having gone through this too many times. "It's okay, Richie. You're not there anymore."

"You're- I'm not-" Richie waved his free hand in front of his face, pushing some extra air his way as he tried to calm himself back down.

"I'm not Eddie," Steve flatly stated. He'd known, by now, that the best way to help Richie through these moments was to remain as calm as possible; it wouldn't help anyone if he got upset as well. "I'm Steve, and you're here with me. We're home and everything is okay."

"I- I know," Richie breathed. "You just- you knocked the wind out of me."

Confused, Steve turned, watching as Richie continued to stare up at the ceiling. "What?"

"You fucking fell on me, what did you expect?" He chuckled through the tears, letting go of the younger man's hand to wipe his face with both of his hands. "You're light, Stevie, but you're not _that_ light."

"You're deflecting again," Steve replied, turning back around and looking out of the window at the small sliver of a moon that decided to come out on this night. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but I don't think it's really good to ignore it.

"I'm not ignoring it, I'm just choosing not to talk about it right now."

"Richie."

"Deflecting is my whole life," Richie shrugged. "I just… I know what tonight was supposed to mean to you and I didn't want to waste it even more by talking about my stupid shit."

It was true, what Richie had said. That night was meant to be a lot more than just two dumb guys having sex with each other for the first time. Steve knew it was not as meaningful to Richie, due to him having done this many times before, but he could still tell that this would have been a lot more than all those other times. It wasn't due to any amount of alcohol in them, it wasn't due to them wanting a good time, it wasn't due to any obligation that others would say was there because they had been dating for so long. To Steve, who had been waiting and waiting his entire thirty-two years of existence for that night, it had always been about more than the sex. It was an intimate celebration of love, a disgusting yet beautiful way to be so close to another person that he couldn't have even imagined doing it with anyone other than someone he _knew_ he loved, someone he _knew_ was going to be so special, so important, to who he was as a person that he couldn't even imagine being with anyone else. Even if Richie didn't know it (they rarely talked about that stuff), it was still going to mean everything to Steve. Richie _knew_ , of course, that Steve had loved him; with the way those big brown doe eyes gazed at him, it was hard not to know. What he lacked, though, was the understanding of how deep in love, how head over heels, how absolutely smitten Steve had been.

That feeling, Steve knew, would tear him apart.

"So… what are we doing tonight?" Steve asked, turning and looking at Richie with a sad smile on his face. "Gross pizza and a movie? What'd you say- a disgusting rom-com?"

"You want to stop?"

"I don't really think either of us really knew what we wanted to do tonight," Steve replied softly, pulling his hand away from Richie's. What he had said was really only half-true, though he had gotten so good at telling half-truths to Richie in their daily lives (mostly their professional lives, of course), that it almost sounded true to even him. "We can just try again on a different day, I don't mind. Plus, I don't really want it to be a shitty post-panic thing that I don't think either of us would really enjoy."

"You're being weirdly nice right now," Richie chuckled. "I would expect you to be upset about it. You seemed really ready to do it and I just messed it all up."

"I'm not really mad, Rich, I just- I'm disappointed, but it's not like either of us is really going anywhere," he shrugged, giving Richie a soft smile. "I hope not, at least."

"God, you're starting to sound like my dad," Richie stifled a laugh as he struggled to remember his father's voice from his childhood. "'I'm not mad, Richard, I'm just disappointed.'"

"Oh, _please_. You're ten years older than me, so if anyone here would be a dad, it would be you," Steve shook his head, grimacing as Richie wiggled his eyebrows in response. "You know that is absolutely not what I meant."

"I don't know, babe. I'm pretty sure that guys I've been with, in the past, had all been pretty okay with referring to me as whatever they wanted- actually, y'know, it wasn't even always them that was saying it."

Though Steve had opened his mouth to respond, all that was able to escape was a small yelp as Richie had pulled on the back of his shirt, causing him to fall back next to him. "What the hell was that for?"

"I don't get why you say that shit," Richie laughed. "You don't even believe in Hell."

"Well, I don't get why you would even begin to insinuate that I would ever refer to you as anything other than your name. Or anyone, for that matter. It's weird."

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it," he shrugged, turning his head to look at his boyfriend as he continued to grimace at the thought. "Alright, Stevie Nicks, I get it. You're not a particularly, uh, adventurous person. Don't give me that look, you were the one that kept saying you wanted to have sex with me tonight."

"Yeah, but I didn't know that we'd have to sort out the fucking logistics of it," Steve shook his head, reaching his hand up to run his fingers through his short wavy hair (he really did need a haircut). "Now, why did you pull me down here? Because I was perfectly happy looking out the window and not, y'know, at the boring-ass ceiling."

"Sometimes I just like looking at you," Richie replied softly, causing Steve to look at him in slight confusion. "I've never really been in, like, a serious relationship like this. You're different from all those other guys and that's why I'm able to just laugh about them. Now that I'm with you, it feels like they don't matter."

"Well, not _all_ of them." Steve sighed, feeling guilty as he watched Richie nod. "Would he have liked me?"

"Eddie… came off as someone that did not like most people. Which was total bullshit, of course- he was basically like if a sweater came to life. It was Stan that didn't really like most people, so I'm sure the two of you would have gotten along amazingly well."

"So he would have been okay with us being together?" Steve asked, knowing that he was searching for answers to a question that, today, didn't have much reason to exist.

At this point, after learning everything he'd been through, Steve believed that their relationship was nothing more than a desperate second-best plan at life- Richie's life. That Steve was just enough to keep him happy; he's not Eddie, but close enough, right? It was only after seeing the photographs that his suspicions were confirmed (more or less), as the similarities were so apparent that it would have been ridiculous to think otherwise. _Maybe he just has a type_ , Steve would tell himself. _He is not the only reason we're together_.

Ever since that day, Eddie Kaspbrak had been a thorn in Steve's side. A thorn that had made its way into Richie's heart and kept him from ever loving Steve the way he had loved- _still_ loves- him. _Him_ , the strange man that wasn't here. Who wasn't constantly being asked questions about Richie, about their relationship, about their future. He hated it, of course, but it was a reminder that their relationship- Steve and Richie's- was _real_. It was actually happening, despite everything, and being jealous of a dead man could never change that.

"Eddie would have loved you," Richie smiled. "You're smart and sweet and you are so wise beyond your years. Sometimes I forget that you're so much younger than me, really. You make me a better person and I'm sure he thanks you for that. _I_ thank you for that."

"But- would he have been okay with us? Would _you_ have been okay?"

Richie sighed, taking a moment to try and think a way around the question that had been thrown his way. "I… you're not exactly like him, you know. Eddie was really finicky, he was a bit of a spaz. He was loud when he wanted to be and demanding when he needed to be. He was a human sweater, but he wasn't without his flaws. But you- you're not quite like that. You're soft and quiet, you know what you want when you see it, but you aren't going out of your way to go and get it. You're happy with just going through life, just as long as things are going okay. You're just… you're so _you_. You're young and full of life and wonder, you want to do so many things. You're not like us, like… you haven't been dragged down by all of this shit. I'm happy with you now, and I'm sure I would have been just as happy then, too."

Looking forward at his boyfriend as he rambled, Steve wasn't sure what to think. He knew there was some truth to what he was hearing, but he couldn't help but think that Richie was avoiding the question that he had been asked. He could tell Richie was happy in their relationship, they both were; Richie was respectful, he was patient, and he was an overall great person. Most of Steve's past boyfriends were less than pleased upon realizing he wasn't very interested in having sex, not that he didn't _want_ to, but he wasn't going after it on the third date. Or fourth. Or fifth. Or sixth.

It didn't matter to Steve how they felt about him. If he didn't want to do it, he wasn't going to.

He had realized about a month into his relationship with Richie that they were a very strange pair. Richie wasn't necessarily a very romantic person while Steve was apprehensive at best when sex entered the conversation. They had known each other for eight years before they had started dating, so there was already a smooth layer of trust and care built upon their foundation of friendship, but there were times where Steve had nearly forgotten they were in a relationship at all. He felt too lucky to have Richie, to wake up next to him in the morning, as if he didn't deserve him. Richie wasn't romantic, but he was usually excited when moments got too heated; Richie wanted more, it seemed, and Steve couldn't give him more.

"I've been through shit, too," he whispered, smiling a bit when he noticed Richie's uncomfortable look while laying on his side with his glasses pushing up into the bridge of his nose. "I grew up as a small, nerdy, Jewish gay kid in a tiny town in Texas, Richie, of course I've been through shit. I know I had to be quiet about who I was to strangers. I know to never get my face painted at a pride parade when I take the bus home. I- I know that it doesn't usually take couples seven months to have sex. I know we've basically done everything but sex at this point, and I say that I'm not ready because I've never done it before, but it's- I have. I don't think of it as sex because there was no love or anything involved at all, but it's all it fucking was, really. I thought I would've gotten over it by now or something but, shit, it's been seven months, Rich. We've been together for almost a year and I still can't shake that feeling. And I really want to, I do, but I- I'm scared," Steve took in a shaky breath, ignoring the way Richie just stared at him silently as he talked. "I'm really scared."

"We don't have to do anything, _ever_ , if you don't want to. I don't care if we grow old together and it still hasn't happened. It's- sex isn't, like, an obligation or something you _have_ to do if it's something you don't want to do. You don't owe it to anyone, even me. I love looking at you, babe, so like- that's enough for me. Whatever we have now is good."

"We're so weird," Steve whispered, turning to face Richie. "Why are we so weird?"

Richie shrugged, smiling when he saw the tension leave his boyfriend. "Do you want us to not be weird?"

"Would you have been weird with Eddie?"

"Why does it matter?" Richie sighed, bringing up a hand to remove his glasses from his face. "You know, you- you talk about him a lot. Why does it really matter that much to you?"

"I know you love him. I'm scared that you settled for me when he was the one you really wanted to be with."

"Of course I was weird with Eddie." Richie rubbed at his eye as he thought. "A childhood crush, y'know. I didn't know how to really wrap my head around it. All I knew was that I wanted that dumb kid's attention, but it doesn't matter now."

Steve knew that was a lie, it had to be. The way Richie stares off, the way his hands shake when Steve offers to get Chinese food for dinner, the way he acts differently when he is with his friends when they visit. Eddie had to matter, so why is Richie acting like he doesn't?

"I know I'm not really the best person to be with," Richie said softly, continuing when he noticed Steve was remaining silent. "I've never really had this before. Most of the guys I'd been with were just… I spent forty years hating who I was. I just needed to make up for lost time, I guess. Now that I'm with you, I feel like all that time doesn't matter, like I'm exactly where I am supposed to be. But I just feel selfish because you deserve better."

Now that was true- well, some of it. Steve had been with Richie through a lot of dark and strange times in his life. Even today, this Richie, was a troubled person; he often woke up in the middle of the night unable to go back to sleep, went to parties where he'd come home acting like a completely different person. Richie was Richie, but these vulnerable times seemed to show that whoever the real Richie Tozier was, he was someone that no one had ever met.

Not unlike Steve, oddly enough. Maybe no one ever really knew anyone.

"Please," Richie whispered, reaching to grab Steve's hand, pleading to him with those tired eyes. "Don't fall in love with me."

Richie fell asleep with that hope in his heart, asking for that poor man to do the impossible. His arms were wrapped around Steve, leaving him to stare up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of that night. Steve didn't hold him back, opting to just lay there and think. He understood what Richie was trying to ask of him, but he knew he couldn't stop something that had already been done. He had fallen for that comedian with a crooked smile years ago, but, of course, no one ever really knew that.

Richie was simply asking him that question out of love, Steve believed. He was too afraid of breaking his heart that he wanted to make sure there was no risk of it getting broken, no risk of Steve getting attached. Which, Steve supposed, is why he cared so much about Eddie; he knew he was so deep in love with Richie that there was no one else for him. He was jealous over the fact that Richie's heart belonged to someone else, someone else that might not ever go away. And it would break him, he knew it would, but perhaps that was a conversation for another day.

 _How could he not know?_ Steve asked himself as he felt Richie breathe against him. Their relationship, admittedly, was everything Steve had really wanted in a relationship. It was cute, it was fun, it was calm. And the laughter- God, they laughed so much. Steve couldn't imagine he would be happier with anyone else, even if three was becoming a bit of a crowd. When it had mattered, though, it was always just them. When Steve dragged Richie to an ice rink to go skating, despite the fact neither of them had ever tried it before. When their favorite song would play on their playlist, causing them to drop whatever they were doing so they could dance together. When Richie first dragged Steve out on stage in front of an audience, looking so proud when he introduced him to his world. Even though they might not know each other as well as they thought, Steve didn't mind. It was always just them against the world, and he loved that.

Even though Richie's request had put a cold weight on his chest, Steve couldn't help but smile as he felt those warm arms around him. He might not have been the best one for Richie, but he was the right one. And Steve supposed he could live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr! @kenzie-ann27


End file.
